


On the Cold Hill’s Side

by Kylie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylie/pseuds/Kylie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Arthur doesn’t remember how he got here.</p><p>The last thing he remembers is Eames’ voice, saying it’s over."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Cold Hill’s Side

Arthur’s blood is dripping from the handcuffs. His head throbs and his left leg is on fire. And he can’t remember how he got here.

The warehouse is smaller and shabbier than what he’s used to occupying during jobs. It must be nighttime, because the only light that helps him see anything at all comes from a flickering street lamp shining through one of the high windows. Arthur can't check his totem, doesn’t even know if he still has it, since he can’t reach into his pocket with his bound hands. It takes him a few minutes to get his bearings.

He is strapped face down to a metal sprung bed frame, his wrists tied to the upper bar. It makes the additional handcuffs rather redundant, but the fact that his captors felt the need for them encourages him, it means they are still wary of him. But who the hell are they, and how did he get here? That blow to the head must have been a really bad one.

Blow to the head. Arthur concentrates on the throbbing. The right side of his head. Kobol? No, that’s been taken care of. Arthur’s pissed off enough people, it could be anyone really. But how did he manage to be so careless that he was caught off guard?

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

The last thing he remembers is Eames’ voice, saying it’s over.

***

Arthur slept with Eames after the first job they worked together. The forger was brilliant at what he did, as well as annoyingly charming and hot as hell. And he was obviously attracted to Arthur. There was just no reason not to kiss those obscene lips and tumble into a king-sized bed in Eames’ suite.

It was just a couple of months before they met again. Cobb found them a job in Prague, which required a forger to pose as the mark’s ex-husband. That’s when Arthur noticed how Eames was liberally peppering his speech with pet names, all those annoying little ‘darlings’ and ‘loves’ directed at Arthur. He teased Arthur about how serious he was on the job (‘uptight’ was the word he used).

He noticed how Arthur admired the skill of forging (because he noticed bloody everything) and put on a show, as he sat down in front of the mirror in the test-run dream. Eames grinned as he watched his reflection, knew that Arthur couldn't look away.

Eames' tattoos faded slowly, line after line of ink blending into his skin, as it smoothed out, darkened a few shades. Arthur watched transfixed as Eames’ hair went black starting from the roots. The color wormed its way down, hair growing longer in the process, his eyes flashed golden for an eerie second before turning brown. His body filled out a bit and lost a few inches of height, and at last his features blurred and changed. The transformation was complete, and Arthur was annoyed to find himself a little out of breath.

"Very impressive, Mr. Eames," he said tersely. "Think you could waste less time when we’re actually under with the mark?"

Eames’ teasing twinkle appeared in the unfamiliar eyes. ‘Depends on who'll be in the audience, darling’.

The job went without a hitch. Arthur and Eames had absolutely mind-blowing sex.

"I’ve been thinking about this," Eames panted, as Arthur straddled his thighs.

In the morning Eames kissed Arthur and asked what his plans were. Arthur didn’t understand why it was any of Eames’ business.

~

It developed into a regular thing over a period of months, whenever they were working the same job, or happened to be in the same city. Once when Arthur was in London Eames pointed out that there really was no sense in him booking a hotel and Arthur stayed at his place.

It was in a bit of a disarray, one room converted into a studio with scattered canvases everywhere and paint drying on fresh forgeries. Eames made breakfast and they drank coffee and talked and fucked. When they showed up together to meet Cobb to discuss their next job, Arthur noticed with a small alarm that Cobb wasn’t surprised that Arthur was staying with Eames, or that Eames asked what they should get for dinner when they were done for the day.

When Arthur left a couple of weeks later, Eames started calling him several times a week. They talked and Arthur replied to Eames’ texts, but he didn’t think of the forger much the rest of the time.

~

The Fischer job left them all wrung out. But at first the sense of triumph drowned out all the rest. Arthur didn’t have the strength to protest when Eames booked them a hotel, and didn’t know why he should. They fucked most of the night, and they were alive, alive and it was all over and they survived, they did it. Arthur rode Eames’ cock and the forger wouldn’t let him look away. ‘Love you’, Eames murmured almost inaudibly into Arthur’s neck, when they were both spent and could hardly move to get under the covers. And it was just the relief and success talking, Arthur knew as he drifted silently off into sleep.

~

_"I can’t take this anymore, Arthur," Eames said._

_Arthur just nodded, because he’d known this moment was going to come._

~

They were together, and it was nice and comfortable. When Arthur heard something funny or interesting these days it was Eames he wanted to laugh with, and when they had sex Arthur wanted to touch every inch of Eames’ body.

But he didn’t think about what it was they had, it’s how they lived, what was there to think about?

But that’s not how Eames saw it.

"The only time I think you could actually…" Eames faltered and turned away towards the kitchen counter for a moment. Arthur was sat at the table, cradling a cup of hot tea between his palms, watching Eames.

Eames turned back abruptly, angry and upset. "The only time I think you might love me is when we’re having sex, Arthur."

Arthur stayed silent. These moments always unnerved him. Everything was fine, wasn’t it? But Eames kept doing this. Asked Arthur what this meant, what they were going to do in the future. Arthur usually let Eames talk himself round and round in circles, contributed a bit here and there and left the episode as far behind him as he could.

But this time… Eames had never said something like that before.

Arthur just looked up at him, blankly.

"I’m not even sure what you want, if you care at all. I can’t take this anymore."

Arthur nodded.

Eames waited, then finally he threw up his hands, ‘I think we should break it off then, break up,’ Eames said, exasperated.

"All right," Arthur heard himself say. He felt relieved.

~

Sweat was pouring down Arthur’s face and back. He was lifting more weights than was probably safe. He’d been at the gym for about two hours already, but no matter how many push-ups and pull-ups he forced himself through, he couldn’t drown out the ache in his chest. It wasn’t his fault Eames had got it all wrong, and he didn’t care. If Eames wanted to complicate things, if Eames wanted to leave, he could fuck off. They’d had a good run, but it had been bound to happen sooner or later.

Arthur nearly dropped the weight he’d been holding. Damn, he was exhausted and frustrated, and it wasn’t fair. He screwed his eyes shut against the gym, the world, the people. Anger flared a moment later and he pushed himself up from the bench in one fluid motion and headed for the water cooler to pour himself a glass.

A bullet shattered his kneecap, and before he could even try to spin around to face his attacker, a hard blow to the head plunged him into darkness.

***

Arthur is feeling more lightheaded by the minute. He knows it’s from blood loss and a likely concussion, but there’s hardly anything he can do with the knowledge. He tries to struggle, fight the straps that hold him down, but they won’t give. His strength and training are of no use here, he can’t break free by force. He tries to think, to formulate a plan. He won’t give in, he isn’t going to give his kidnappers the satisfaction of bleeding to death onto the floor of their dirty hideout.

But the darkness spins before Arthur’s tired eyes, twisting into disturbing shapes. He still doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or not. The blow to the head proves nothing, they could’ve put him under while he was out. He wonders if dreaming is an advantage in this case. Bleeding out will wake him up, no doubt in a similar dingy warehouse.

He pulls on the straps once again, and the effort makes his head spin even worse. He has to rest just a bit against the thin metal springs of the bed before he tries again, before he can think of a plan.

Long minutes pass. The shadows recede. Arthur sees full lips smile at him in the darkness, revealing a set of crooked teeth. Broad shoulders and an edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the shirt collar, one of those ridiculous paisley shirts.

Eames.

Eames, who put up with him, who was kind, who didn’t push him for so long. Arthur feels the tears spill, because no one can see him and because he has ruined everything. It’s all over, and he will die here all alone, because of how he fucked up. No, because of how fucked-up he is.

Arthur wants to tell Eames that he’s sorry, that he’ll try, very hard, to be good at this. He can be good at things, he can be good when he puts his mind to it! Isn’t he the best point man in the business?

Arthur just wants Eames’ arms around him, he wants to wake up.

But Eames isn’t looking for him, Eames will never come for him.

_Eames hands Arthur a cup of coffee in the morning and they slag off a stupid breakfast show._

_The mark's projections are tearing at Arthur’s skin, and Eames takes a clean shot right between his eyes._

_Eames’ hands are splayed out over Arthur’s back and he looks like he’d rather die than let go._

_"Love you…"_

Three shots are fired in the distance, they echo around the warehouse like thunder.

There’s a warm hand on Arthur’s cheek, "Darling…"

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from John Keats' poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci. 
> 
> Originally written in 2012.


End file.
